In act no trifle, and no blank in time.
This greatens, fills, immortalizes all:
This, the bleft art of turning all to gold;
This, the good heart's prerogative to raise
A royal tribute, from the poorest hours.
Immenfe revenue! every moment pays.
If nothing more than purpofe in thy power,
Thy purpofe firm, is equal to the deed:
Who does the beft his circumftance allows,
Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint;
'Tis not in things o'er thought to domincer;
Guard well thy thoughts; our thoughts are heard
in heaven.

On all-important time, thro' every age, Tho' much, and warm, the wife have urg'd; the Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour. [ma■ "I've loft a day"-the prince who nobly cry`d, Had becu an emperor without his crown; He fpoke, as if deputed by mankind. So fhould all fpeak: fo reafon fpeaks in all : From the foft whispers of that God in man, Why fly to folly, why to phrenfy fly, For refcue from the bleffing we poffefs? Time, the fupreme !-Time is eternity; Pregnant with all eternity can give, Pregnant with all that makes arch-angels fmile. Who murders time, he crushes in the birth A pow'r ethereal, only not ador'd.

New-wing thy fhort, fhort day's too rapid flight?
Man flies from time, and time from man: toofoon
In fad divorce this double flight must end;
And then, where are we, where, Lorenzo ! then,
Thy fports? thy pomp-I grant thee, in a state
Not unambitious; in the ruffled shroud,
Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath.
Has death his fopperies? then well may life
Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine.

192. Falfe Delicacy.

YE well-array'd! ye lilies of our land!

Ἐ

Ye lilies male! who neither toil, nor fpin; Ye delicate! who nothing can fupport, Yourselves moft infupportable! for whom The winter rofe must blow, and filky foft Favonius breathe fill fofter, or be chid; And other worlds fend odours, fauce, and fong, And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms! O ye who deem one moment unamus'd, A mifery, fay, dreamers of gay dreams! How will you weather an eternal night, Where fuch expedients fail? where wit's a fool; Mirth mourns; dreams vanish; laughter sinks in

tears.

Fate's hafty prey; implore him, re-import
The period paft; re-give the given hour!
Lorenzo-O for yesterday to come!

Such is the language of the man awake;
And is his ardour vain? Lorenzo! no:
To-day is yesterday return'd; return'd
Full power'd to cancel, expiate, raife, adorn,
And reinftate us on the rock of
peace.
Let it not fhare its predeceffor's fate;
Nor, like its elder fifters, die a fool.
Shall we be poorer for the plenty pour'd ?
More wretched for the clemencies of heaven?

A moment, and the world 's blown up to thee;
The fun is darkness, and the stars are duft.

9 197

'TIS greatly wife to talk with our paft hours;
And ask them, what report they bore to
heaven;
[news.
And how they might have borne more welcome
Their anfwers form what men experience call:
If Wifdom's friend, her best: if not, worst foc.
O reconcile them! kind Experience crics,
"There's nothing here,but what as nothing weighs;
The more our joy, the more we know it vain;

$195. The Depravity of Man.

WHERE thall I find him? angels, tell me And by fuccefs are tutor'd to defpair."

where!

You know him; he is near you: point him out;
Shall I fee glories beaming from his brow?
Or trace his footsteps by the rifing flow'rs?
Your golden wings, now hov'ring o'er him thed
Protection; now, are waving in applaufe
To that bleft fon of forefight! lord of fate!
That awful independent on To-morrow!
Whofe work is done; who triumphs in the paft;
Whofe yesterdays look backwards with a fmile;
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly.
If not by guilt, they wound us by their flight,
If folly bounds our profpect by the grave;
All feeling of futurity benumb'd;
All relifh of realities expir'd;

Renounc'd all correfpondence with the skies;
Embruted every faculty divine;
Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world:
The world, that gulph of fouls, immortal fouls,
Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire
To reach the diftant fkics, and triumph there
On thrones, which fhall not mourn their mafters
chang'd,

Tho' we from earth; ethereal, they that fell.
Such veneration due, O man, to man!

Vanity of Human Enjoyments, taught by Experience.

drown'd

In that great deep, which nothing difembogues;
And, dying, they bequeath'd thee finall renown.
The rest are on the wing: how fleet their flight!
Already has the fatal train took fiie;

Nor is it only thus, but must be fo:
Who knows not this, tho' grey, is ftill a child.
Loose then from earth the gralp of fond defire,
Weigh anchor, and fome happier clime explore.

We, fore amaz'd, from out earth's ruins crawl,
And rife to fate extreme, of foul or fair,

As man's own choice, controuler of the fkies!
As man's defpotic will, this hour, decrees;
Should not each warning give a strong alarm ?
Warning, far lefs than that of bofoi torn
From botom, bleeding o'er the facred dead?
Should not each dial ftrike us as we pafs,
Portentous, as the written wall, which ftruck,
O'er midnight bowls, the proud Affyrian pale ?
Like that, the dial speaks; and points to thee;
"O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee;
And, while it lafts, is emptier than my fhade."

Know; like the Median, fate is in thy walis :
Man's make inclofes the fure feeds of death;
Life feeds the murderer: ingrate ! he thrives
On her own meal; and then his nurfe devours.

$196. Inftability of Life. WHO venerate themselves, the world defpifc. For what, gay friend! is this efcutcheon'd world,

$199. Life compared to the Sun-dial.
THAT folar fhadow, as it measures life,

Which hangs out, Death is one eternal night?
A night, that glooms us in the noon-tide ray,
And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the throud.
Life's little ftage is a finall eminence,
Inch high the grave above; that home of man,
Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around,
We read their monuments; we figh; and while
We figh, we fink; and are what we deplor'd;
Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot!

It life refembles too: life fpeeds away
From point to point, tho' feeming to stand still:
The cunning fugitive is fwift by ftealth:
Too fubtle is the movement to be seen,
Yet foon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Warnings point out our danger, gnomons, time:
As thefe are ufelefs when the fun is fet,

Is death at diftance? no: he has been on thee;
And given fure earneft of his final blow. [now?
Thofe hours, which lately fmil'd, where are they | So thofe, but when more glorious reafon fhines.
Pallid to thought, and ghaltly! drown'd, all Reafon fhould judge in all; in reafon's cyc,
That fedentary fhadow travels hard :
But all mankind miftake their time of day;
Even age itself: fresh hopes are hourly fown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's defcent,
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain:

We

We take fair days in winter, for the spring:
We turn our bletfings into bane; fince oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel:
He fearce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's lateft eve, we keep in ftore
One difappointment fure, to crown the reft;
The difappointment of a promis'd hour.

§ 200. Death of the good Man.
SO fung Philander, O! the cordial warmth,
And elevating fpirit, of a friend,
For twenty fummers ripening by my fide;
All feculence of falfehood long thrown down;
All focial virtues rifing in his foul;

As crystal clear; and fmiling, as they rife!
On earth how loft! Philander is no more.
How blethings brighten as they take their flight!
His flight Philander took; it were profane
To quench a glory lighted at the skies,
And caft in fhadows his illuftrious clofe.
Strange! the theme most affecting, moft fublime,
Momentous moft to man, should fleep unfung;
Man's highest triumph! man's profoundeft fali!
The death-bed of the juft! is yet undrawn
By mortal hand; it merits a divine:
Angels fhould paint it, angels ever there;
There, on a poft of honour, and of joy.

[fate

The chamber where the good man meets his
Is privileg'd beyond the common walk
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Fly, ye profane! or elfe draw near with awe,
For, here, refiftlefs demonftration dwells;
Here tir'd diffimulation drops her mask,
Here real and apparent are the fame.
You fee the man; you fee his hold on heaven :
Heaven waits not the laft moment, owns its friends
On this fide death; and points them out to men;
A lecture, filent, but of fovereign pow'r,
To vice, confufion; and to virtue, peace!

peace!
Where the frail mortal? the poor abject worm?
No, not in death, the mortal to be found.
His comforters he comforts; great in ruin,
With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields
His foul fublime; and clofes with his fate.
How our hearts burnt within us at the fcene!
Whence this brave bound o'er limits fixt to man?

His God fuftains him in his final hour!
His final hour brings glory to his God!
Man's glory heaven vouchfafes to call its own.
Amazement ftrikes devotion burfts to flame!
Chriftians adore! and infidels believe.

At that black hour, which general horror fheds
On the low level of th' inglorious throng,
Sweet peace, and heavenly hope, and humble joy,
Divinely beam on his exalted foul;
Deftruction gild, and crown him for the skies.
Life, take thy chance, but oh for fuch an end!

$201. NIGHT III. Picture of Narciffa, Defcrip-
tion of her Funeral, and a Reflection upon Man.
SWEET harmonift! and beautiful as fweet!

And young as beautiful! and foft as young!
And gay as foft! and innocent as gay!
And happy (if aught happy here) as good!
For fortune fond had built her neft on high.
Like birds quite exquifite of note and plume,
Transfix'd by fate (who loves a lofty mark)
How from the fummit of the grove the fell,
And left it unharmonious! all its charms
Extinguish'd in the wonders of her fong!
Her fong ftill vibrates in my ravish'd ear,
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain
(0 to forget her!) thrilling thro' my heart!
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this
Of bright ideas, flow'rs of paradise, [group
As yet unforfeit ! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and prefent it to the fkies; as all
We guefs of heaven, and these were all her own.
And the was mine; and I was-was!-moft
Gay title of the deepest misery! [bleft-
As bodies grow more pond'rous robb'd of life,
Good loft weighs more in grief than gain'd in joy.
Like bloffom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death ftill lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity fwells the tide of love.

nd will not the fevere excufe a figh?
Scorn the proud man that is afham'd to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deferve our fhame.
Ye that e'er loft an angel! pity me.

Whatever farce the boaftful hero plays, Virtue alone has majesty in death; And greater ftill, the more the tyrant frowns. Philander! he feverely frown'd on thee, "No warning given! unceremonious fate! "A fudden ruth from life's meridian joys! "A restless bed of pain a plunge opaque

4

65

Soon as the luftre languifh'd in her eye, Dawning a dimmer day on human fight; Beyond conjecture! feeble nature's dread! And on her cheek, the refidence of spring, Strong reafon's fhudder at the dark unknown! Pale omen fat, and fcatter'd fears around "A fun extinguifh'd! a juft opening grave! On all that faw (and who could ceafe to gaze "And oh! the laft, laft: what? (can words ex- That once had feen with hafte, parental hafte, [friend!" I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid north, "Thought reach ?) the laft, laft-filence of a Her native bed, on which black Boreas blew, Thro nature's wreck, thro' vanquish'd agonies, And bore her nearer to the fun; the fun Like the ftars ftruggling thro' this midnight gloom. (As if the fun could envy) check'd his beam, What gleams of joy! what more than human Denied his wonted fuccour; nor with more Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells Of lilies; faireft lilies, not fo fair!

"prefs?

Queen lilies and ye painted populace
Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrofial lives;
In morn and ev'ning dew your beauties bathe,
And drink the fun; which gives your cheeks to
And out-bluth (mine excepted) every fair! [glow;
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand,

K

Which

Which often cropp'd your odours, incenfe meet
To thought fo pure! Ye lovely fugitives!
Coeval race with man! for man you smile;
Why not fmile at him too? You share indeed
His fudden pafs, but not his conftant pain.

So man is made, nought minifters delight,
But what his glowing paffions can engage;
And glowing paffions, bent on aught below,
Muft foon or late with anguish turn the fcale;
And anguish, after rapture, how fevere!
Rapture Bold man! who tempts the wrath divine,
By plucking fruit denied to mortal tafte,
While here prefuming on the rights of Heaven.
For tranfport doft thou call on ev'ry hour,
Lorenzo At thy friend's expence be wife;
Lean not on earth, 'twill pierce thee to the heart;
A broken reed at beft, but oft a fpcar;
On its fharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopeless thoughts! turn from her:-
thought repell'd

Refenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe.
Snatch'd ere thy prime, and in thy bridal hour!
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, fmil'd!
And when high flavour'd thy freth op'ning joys'
And when blind man pronounc'd thy blifs com-
plete!

And on a foreign fhore, where ftrangers wept !
Strangers to thee; and, more furpriting ftill,
Strangers to kindnefs wept their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; strange tears! that trickled down
From marble hearts! obdurate tenderneís!
A tenderness that call'd them more fevere;
In fpite of nature's foft perfuafion, steel'd;
While nature melted, fuperftition rav'd;
That mourn'd the dead, and this denied a grave.
Their fighs incens'd, fighs foreign to the will!
Their will the tiger fuck'd, outrag'd the ftorm.
For, oh! the curs'd ungodlinefs of zeal!
While finful flefh relented, fpirit nurs'd
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The fainted fpirit petrified the breast :
Denied the charity of duft, to spread
O'er duft! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? what fuccour what refource:
With pious facrilege a grave I ftole,
With impious piety that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty, coward in my grief!
More like her murderer than friend, I crept
With foft fufpended step, and mufled deep
In midnight darknefs whifper'd my last figh.
I whisper'd what fhould echo thro' their realms;
Nor writ her name whofe tomb fhould pierce the

The dead how facred! Sacred is the duft
Of this heaven-labour'd form, erect, divine;
This heaven-affum'd majestic robe of earth
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanfe
With azure bright, and cloth'd the fun in gold.
When ev'ry pailion sleeps that can offend;
When ftrikes us ev'ry motive that can melt;
When man can wreak his rancour uncontrol'd,
That firongest curb on infult and ill-will;
Then fpleen to duft? the duft of innocence ?
An angel's duft-This Lucifer tranfcends:
When he contended for the patriarch's bones,
'Twas not the ftrife of malice, but of pride;
The ftrife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.

Far lefs than this is fhocking, in a race
Moft wretched but from streams of mutual love;
And uncreated but for love divine;
And, but for love divine, this moment loft,
By fate reforb'd, and funk in endless night.
Man hard of heart to man! of horrid things
Moft horrid! 'Mid ftupendous, highly strange!
Yet oft his courtefics are fimoother w
wrongs;
Pride brandishes the favours He confers,
And contumelious his humanity:

What then his vengeance Hcar it not, ye ftars!
And thou, pale moon! turn paler at the found!
Man is to man the foreft, fureft ill.

fkies.
Prefumptuous fear! How durft I dread her foes,
While nature's loudeft dictates I obey'd?
Pardon neceffity, bleft fhade! Of grief
And indignation rival burfts I pour'd;
Half execration mingled with my pray'r;
Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd;
Sore grudg'd the favage land her facred duft;
Stamp'd the curs'd foil; and with humanity
(Denied Narciffa) wifh'd them all a grave.

Glows my refentmeat into guilt? What guilt
Can equal violations of the dead?